The Edwardian Principle
by GhostfaceScylla
Summary: ON HOLD What if there was something more behind Ed? More than just silliness? A purpose, perhaps? R&R please! Chapter 2 uploaded, reviews needed for chapter 3!
1. Mine Eye

Hey everyone! This is my first start into the world of Cowboy Bebop FF writing. I usually stick to the lighter side of things, Rurouni Kenshin and the like, but I'm very fond of Bebop and I thought I'd give this a try. I don't know if this is a prologue to a multi-chaptered story or just a twisted little one-shot, depending on reviews it will go either way. So leave me something interesting and your opinion on whether the story should stop here or if it's interesting enough to keep going. Thanks! ^_^ 

On with the story!

            Once, when I was young and moldable as the brown clay in the hands of the creation deity, my eyes alighted on a peculiar picture in a heavy, glossy covered book.

            It was a painting in light pastels and comfortable grays, the colors making the observer feel warm and relaxed while experiencing something outside their realm. In the picture, an old, wrinkled, brown paper bag of a woman, her face echoing the vitality of a fleeting youth, lay asleep on a tatami mat with a large comforter pulled up to her long chin. She was turned towards a far thin paper wall. This wall was illuminated by a light in the next room and two silhouettes could be clearly seen. One was of a younger woman, her kimono open in the front and her new, elastic breasts bouncing against the harsh scattered light of the room. Her hair held many intricate hair pins and gave the impression that she was a lower caste geisha. 

            The other shadow was of an older man, perhaps the older woman's husband. He had his body and arms stretched out towards the young woman, about to receive her in a deep embrace of carnal love. 

            However, the interesting thing to me was not the man and the woman with their grotesque behavior, but the older woman's expression. 

            At first glance, she appeared to be in a deep meditative sleep. But upon my scrutinized view, it was apparent that one eye was firmly shut and the other eye opened a sliver smaller than a thin sheet of worn Egyptian papyrus. The eye bore silent, quiet witness to the scene with an eerie discrepancy. The old woman's mouth was twisted up into a smile, a jest at the follies and the cruelties of her condition. She was the unseen, unaccounted for observer, not wishing to look in for fear of sin but not entirely certain she should look away either. 

            I feel sure that the next morning, when the woman would have served the man his breakfast and tea, she would not have mentioned what she had seen. She merely would have smiled that inscrutable smile. Perhaps her husband has been wondering all of his life what that smile means, perhaps that is why he was driven into the arms of the hired courtesan so late in life. I can readily guess that if I were to tell the old woman of this possibility, she would turn from the painting and grin at me; cold, numb, and unfeeling. 

            In the years since that painting enchanted me, I have strived to be that woman, the underestimated and invisible one. And it has always served me quite well, living my life as if I were partially insane made everyone else take me for the resident Bebop jester. But it has not been I that has been cast as the fool in this spectacular performance. That role belongs only to you; Spike, Jet, Miss Valentine.

            I was never sorry for my actions before.

            A spy must never be sorry.

            But as I stand here above this grave, in the living, breathing air, I read the epitaph that Faye has constructed for you. Simply put in large ancient letters chiseled into the headstone, it calls out to the world from a face of granite:

Spike Spiegel

A Man Among Cowards

Captain of a Ship that Sails the Winds of the Past

            These words do not fit you, Spike. Possibly for someone lacking in originality or the potential to cultivate some, they would be just fine. But for you, they sound hackneyed and used, as if the engraver forgot to come up with something and in his haste pulled out his book of proverbs which resides between "Big Beautiful Behinds" and the latest issue of "100 Funny Things to do in the Can" on his workshop bookshelf. 

            I bend down, and taking the key to my spacecraft, scratch out my sentence across the void.

            _For every wave of countenance to pause upon this ground,_

_            Mine eye hath been opened._

            Maybe, across the eternal chasm, you hear my honest prayer for your forgiveness. I will wait forever to receive it. Upon this hallowed earth I prostrate myself, I, the woman you know as Edward, the catalyst to your death, tell you the solemn truth.

There are waters you have naught to know. Here be the Dragons.

Well, what do you think? A one shot? A story? Tell me! Use the little button at the bottom of the page and leave me something! ^_^


	2. Judas the Traitor

            I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever….. I just didn't want to go on and screw this story up, so I had to wait for an idea to form completely in my head. 

            Well, I'm kind of going on just for the helluvit. Reviews are much appreciated and will win you chapter 3, otherwise, the end is here.

            This chapter was so much fun to write! I hope it is as fun to read.

            **_I tell thee, the cock shall not crow this day, before that thou shall thrice deny that thou knowest me._**

_            But this Judas does not disown  her wickedness. She holds it dear, for it was her preservation. _

************

            A grizzled, aged hand reached for a white phone. Its digits dial the number precariously, any moment, perhaps, they will shatter into splinters like ice. 

            It rings. One. Two. Three times, and then someone answers.

            "Hai." The voice on the other end of the line is ardent and young, smooth like brandywine and yet placid in the same instant.

            "Chameleon, you are needed." Nails on a chalkboard speak across the phone.

            "I figured as much." The receiver slams down and the clock in the office ticks expectantly, waiting for the Chameleon to arrive.

            _Are you seeing this, Spike? Is it painted in clear, sharp colors before your decaying corneas? How very beautiful I was… and how wonderfully worldly I thought I was to the ways of life._

            The black car reflected charcoal in the afternoon rain puddles, the dampness of the city coupled with the emotional strain depressed her. She stepped out onto the sidewalk forcefully, shunning help from her driver, and hurried into the looming building. As she entered, she disrobed her raincoat and fluffed her hair before going over to the private service elevator.

            "Floor thirteen."

            The elevator operator nodded and pushed a button.

            _Longest elevator ride of my life, Spike.__ No kidding!_

            Pointed heel pumps clicked against the linoleum in time as she approached. The door opened automatically for her, the Walking Typhoon seated herself and began to pull off her long black gloves.

            "Vicious." It was not a jovial statement, merely an observation of less than satisfactory facts.

            "And so we meet again, Chameleon." He smiled sadistically. Chameleon crossed her long legs, letting them stretch from here to hell in an instant. She produced a cigarette from the folds of her brassier and held it poised between her blossoming lips. 

            "Give a lady a light?" She brushed back her long red hair with one perfectly manicured hand. Vicious pulled a single match from his coat pocket and handed it to her across the desk. She took it gingerly, held it between her index finger and thumb, and forcefully struck it against her little satin dress. The burning cigarette set her features aglow in the dimly lit room.

            "I want a favor."

            "You always do."

            "You sold me your life, it is mine. You obey."

            "Then it's not really a favor, Vicious. It's a demand."

            "You have a choice, Chameleon."

            "And what would that be?"

            "Death." His canine teeth showed as he said the word, placing his sword in its sheath on his mahogany desk. Chameleon stayed quiet, blowing perfect smoke rings into the air in a disenchanted manner. 

            "I need a new thrill. Tell me about this 'favor'."

            "I want you to infiltrate a spaceship. I want you to use your arts on someone."

            "…….Who?"

            "Spike Spiegel."

            "Ah, the proverbial unsettled score rises again, I see."

            "_That is none of your concern. You are to enter the Bebop by whatever means necessary. You are to stay there by whatever means necessary. You will send me information on what they are doing and you will help me to lure Mr. Spiegel into combat."_

            Chameleon let the ashes from her white cigarette fall onto Vicious's cream carpet. She stepped on them with her leather heel, grinding them into the rug to turn it a deep charcoal color. 

            _The same color as my hate for that man, Spike. The same color as my depression, as my resignation for the way he used a human until they were all but a shell and then broke their lifeless bodl open with a steel nutcracker._

"And what shall I be, Vicious? An old lady, a man, a drug dealer?"

            "You will be what will accomplish the task the quickest, what they will never even consider to be a threat."         

            "Ah, a child."

            "Yes." He drew the 's' out as if he were a reptile, and with his hypnotic glare perhaps he was. "I suggest you begin hacking into their ship and figuring out a way to infiltrate their lives. I require you to be in place within the next 24 hours." Chameleon leaned forward in her chair, her cleavage presenting itself more and more with each inch.

            "Oh, and Vicious?" Her voice was honey rolling over the room now, down the walls and through every pore in the man's body.

            "Yes?"

            "Tell Julia I said hello." Words cut one's throat like a knife.

            "Out!" 

            She stood and a pause hit the air like a squirrel crushed by a falling oak.

            "And Chameleon?"

            "Hmm?" Her cherry lips parted in a full-figured grin.

            "Be careful."

            Laughter engulfed the room. "From what, Vicious? Certainly you don't think that Mr. Spiegel can do me any harm…"

            "From me." Silence accompanied the warning tone as the man pulled his gleaming sword out of its sheath. Chameleon's eyes grew wide and fretful. Then, she turned and evaded him, slinking towards the door and setting her features in motion with the storm she was creating.

            _I knew I could make his temperature rise a full degree, and for some reason I thought that meant he was in my hands. Mistake. That is where your mistake fell too, Spike, underestimating the devil lying dormant within Vicious. When it sprung out at you, neither you nor I knew what to do._

            She stood in front of a fogged up mirror, her terry-cloth robe resting against her sweet skin. Rubbing her thighs together, she stared into the glass and let the scissors gleam in the fluorescent light. Then, she cut. Strands of soft crimson hair fell from her head and graced the bathroom floor, collecting in pools that looked like blood… the blood of her former self dripping away, flowing down through the air to land at her feet. 

            When she had finished, her red locks lay strewn about, their beauty marred by the alabaster floor. She grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of stretch pants, some goggles, her computer, and the keys to her intergalactic spacecraft, and went to the sink to pull out a vat of kerosene that resided there. 

            "One last one before I go." Filling her tub to the brim, she struck a match and lit her last cigarette. Then, Chameleon stood there, hovering over the bathtub and letting the flames dangle above it, dangerously testing her bonds to humanity. With one fluid motion, it fell downwards and into the sweet yellow liquid. The entire apartment went up in flames.

            By the time the firemen arrived, the apartment building was unsalvageable. Strangely, the only one around was a little girl with messy red hair who was seated on the curb. She stared up at the sky and blew bubbles with her tongue. 

            An on-site detective walked over and sat down next to the little girl. She turned towards him as he walked over, her eyes probing his face. He pulled his fedora over his ears in a fatal attempt to hide his features from her scrutinizing view. Calmly, and in a voice laced with a belittling content he began to speak to her.

            "Miss, did you see the cause of this fire?" His index finger pointed towards the flaming building.

            She stood and dusted off her rear, then put a goofy smile on her face. "Look! Silly hat man came to talk to Ed! But Ed doesn't want to talk to silly hat man, Ed wants to talk to shiny badge man!"  The little girl pointed her finger at an officer talking to a fireman, his nametag glinting in the illuminated flames.

            "Look, Miss. I just asked you a simple question."

            "Question?" She scratched her head. "Ed has forgotten what the nature of this question was. Please insert disk again before closing down hard drive!"

            "What? I- uh, I mean…. Did you see what started the fire?" The detective had already had fourteen hours on the job when the call about an apartment building fire came in. It would be an understatement to say his patience was wearing thin. His patience had snapped in hour twelve, with the seventh homicide report of the day.

            The red-head scratched behind her ear, and he couldn't help but notice her perfectly manicured fingernails. "Ed saw nothing. Ed only sees what is there, and nothing was what was there when Ed saw it!"

            "Uh, Ed? Who's this Ed?"

            "Ed's me! Edward for short!"

            The detective raised himself off the curb and pulled his trench-coat tighter around his midsection. Coughing into his hand, he called one of the police officer's over and whispered into his ear. "This one's a crazy. Not much help to us. Best we keep looking for someone rational." He pointed to the self-proclaimed Ed as he spoke. Then, he bent down and gave Ed a big smile, his features glowing like a fake spotlight. "All right, little gir-, uhh, little bo-… All right you're free to go."

            Ed began making plane noises with her mouth and stood up, throwing her arms out to the sides like wings of an aircraft. "Farewell, cruel world! Ichi, nichi, san, konban, and sayyyoooooonara!" with that, 'Ed' ran away from the officers and into a nearby parking garage. Her step slowed to a methodical walk as she retreated into the shade of the garage and her head turned, flashing a slightly evil, gleaming smile. 

            _The personality fit me, Spike. Possibly because my childhood had been stolen away from me by the Red Dragon. It felt wonderful to be silly and paint a face of someone carefree upon my own harrowed features.  However, no matter how much that child pushed to take over my brain, however much my schizophrenia wanted to evaporate and leave only this Ed girl behind, traces of the Chameleon still held on as strong as ever. That one damned eye refused to snap shut. _

            "Imbecile." She breathed. The Chameleon's shapeshifting had been a success, a total and complete rendering of an alternate personality. And from this animal gift of hers, Edward was born.

            She hopped into her spacecraft, lifting it high into the air and the blasting off. The only trace left of her was a few blue specks of light floating in the air. 

            "Onto earth…and the Bebop." She said, her voice cold and chilling. Then, she plugged in her coordinates and started surfing the web for information. 

            "Spike, Jet, Faye-Faye, and a Bonsai! Fun! Oooooh, Bebop, oooooooHAYYYoooooo!" And with that, she burst off into hyperspace, the Chameleon and Ed both careening towards their destinies.

            _So perhaps it was Chameleon that was the real Judas, or perhaps it is just better to think of it this way. But then, you would be counting out all the times that your defenseless, dopey little Ed double crossed you through a computer screen._

_            Yes, this Judas, this betrayal is threefold. I crossed you thrice in our engagement; once from your past, once for your future, and once without cause.._

Read and review and you will get chapter 3: Jammin with the Undercover Agent. I plan to do about 7 chapters (if you all review) and in those Ed will explain how she 'double-crossed' the Bebop members three times. 

Until then, in the words of Ed: sayoooooooooonara!


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